


Imagine How Is Touch The Sky

by misledmisneach



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Editing? who is she, F/M, don't mind my bad writing, forgive me Father for I have sinned, this is kind of a self insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:49:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24617107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misledmisneach/pseuds/misledmisneach
Summary: While at home nursing a broken leg, Emma Gilly gets a surprise package in the mail, but not the good kind. The next thing she knows, she's in 1899, midwest USA, but things are different. The states are all wrong, and her hometown doesn't seem to exist. The one thing she does know: this Arthur Morgan guy is p cute 10/10. Will she find her way home, or is she going to be stuck with this "Van der Linde Gang" and all their adversities forever?
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 32





	1. I

It’s not easy being green, I thought to myself as I watched Shrek for the third time today. I chuckled to myself, finding my wit extremely hilarious. My leg was propped up on the coffee table on top of a pillow, the bright white of my cast glared into my eyes as the sunlight from our open picture window poured in and bounced off the cast. It was the beginning of summer, and though I doubted I was going to do anything with it anyways, I was pissed that I now had no choice but to take it easy.  
I had broken my leg in the most absurd way possible: falling down a flight of stairs. I was looking at memes on Instagram on the last day of classes as I descended the second floor stairs of my residence hall, and skipped a step, tumbling down and landing on my left leg in just the right spot to cause a compound fracture. I probably should’ve drank more milk beforehand, but when you’re a busy freshman with little time to even pee, it’s hard to get a decent meal in too.  
I stared down at my leg, with nothing much running through my mind. I was snapped back to reality when a loud grumble from my stomach alerted me that I was hungry. I reached over for my box of Cheez-Its, but my hand met empty air. I had finished them off an hour ago, and my mom had disposed of the box for me.  
“Ma!” I called out, hoping she was inside the house. If she wasn’t, she was likely out in the garage cleaning out the trunk of her car. When I heard no response from her, I called out again, still receiving no reply. I sighed and grabbed my crutches, pushing myself up off the couch, and struggling to my feet. Or rather - foot. I hobbled towards the kitchen, my crutches clacking against the wood floor. I pushed the door to the kitchen open with the end of my crutch, and stepped onto the linoleum when the sound of the doorbell ringing stopped me in my tracks.  
“MOM!” I yelled, hoping she would go answer the door. I pushed myself onwards into the kitchen, swinging open a cupboard and looking up at my options. There was a box of cheez-its that had been opened a while ago. I didn’t really want to risk stale cheez-its, so I looked on. There was a bag of plain potato chips, a mostly empty bag of sour cream and onion chips, and several chocolate Hersheys bars. I reached up for the sour cream and onion chips, tucked it in the pocket of my shorts, and pivoted to head back for the couch.  
I had taken a few steps when the doorbell rang again. I sighed and turned to head for the front door instead. I wondered who could be so determined to see us that they would bother even showing up to our home in the first place, and who would be so determined to wait long enough for me to grab a snack. I hobbled the rest of the way to the door, and reached for the door handle, dropping my right crutch on the floor with a crack. I swore, and struggled to bend down for it. The light from the frosted window beside our front door shone down on my crutch, and illuminated my hand reaching for it. Suddenly, something passed in front of the window, casting a shadow on my hand. It moved quickly, as if someone had run past the door. Puzzled, I scooped up my crutch, and raised myself back up.  
I reached for the door; my heart began to pound in my chest. I didn’t know what to expect.  
The door swung open silently to reveal an empty porch aside from a single brown cardboard box sitting perfectly centered on our welcome mat. There were no shipping labels on it, and no cars were parked on the road in front of our house, much less a UPS truck.  
There was no way I was going to be able to carry the box into the house. I looked over my shoulder, hoping my mother would be behind me, but of course she wasn’t. Where was she?? I looked back at the box, and an idea popped into my head. I hobbled to the other side of the box, and turned to face my front door. I smacked the box with my crutch, and it toppled onto its top. Something heavy but small rattled around in the box. There was obviously no packing material in it. I kicked it again with my crutch, and slowly rolled it into my house. Shutting the door behind me, I leaned my right crutch against the wall and bent over to scoop the box up. There was a table beside our door where we put our keys into a blue ceramic bowl that sat on top of the table. I set the box down on this, and retrieved my crutch. I examined the box for a moment, and noted again that there was no shipping label. Only a small piece of paper taped to the top that read “To Gilly” in Times New Roman, in a sizable font. Gilly was my last name, so it could be to one of my parents, my brother, or myself. My curiosity was getting the better of me, however, so I decided to take it upon myself to open the box. I went to the kitchen and fetched a pair of scissors from our junk drawer, and hobbled back to the box. I flipped the scissors open and sliced the tape that held the box closed. With excitedly shaking fingers, I set down the scissors and flipped up the sides.  
I gasped in alarm and took a startled step back.  
“MOM!” I yelled, my voice an octave higher with fear. “Mom, come here!” I yelled, not taking my eyes off the contents of the box. Inside was a pistol that had been a golden color before, but it was tarnished - I hoped. Either that, or it was coagulated blood.  
Finally I heard footsteps coming up the hall from the door that lead to the garage.  
“What, sweetie?” My mother asked, exasperation lining her voice. I opened my mouth to speak, but I found myself unable to as I stared, enraptured by the gun in the box. I stepped forward, and although my gut told me not to, I reached into the box, and wrapped my hand around the grip, and everything went dark.

The first sensation that I became aware of was the lack of a cast on my leg. My leg also felt...stable, for lack of a better term. I could tell it wasn’t broken anymore. I opened my eyes, and was instantly blinded by the sun. I groaned and squinted my eyes shut again. I struggled to sit up, my ill-equipped core muscles giving me quite the fight. When I was finally sitting up, I opened my eyes again and was greeted by trees all around me. I was in a clearing in the woods. My clothes were ripped, though still on me. My left sleeve had been completely torn, and my head also hurt like crazy.  
I struggled to my feet, uneasy on my newly healed leg. How did that happen? And where was I? I didn’t recognize anything around me, and I certainly didn’t know how my clothes had been destroyed. It was also chilly in the forest, and I was severely underdressed. I spun around in a circle, hoping to see something familiar, but of course, nothing was. I tried to recall all of those assemblies my elementary school had hosted about what to do when you get lost in the woods. I vaguely remembered them saying to stay where you are, and not to move, but I doubted anyone knew to come look for me here. I would have to move. I looked around, and decided that the vegetation looked thinner to my left, so I decided to embark on my journey in that direction. Soon, I could hear the faint sound of a raging river up ahead. The vegetation, bright and green, did indeed begin to thin, as the ground became more rocky than grassy and leaf-covered. In front of me, I soon saw that I was headed for a cliff. It opened up over an immense valley speckled with plateaus at least 50 stories high. It took my breath away for a moment to see such beautiful, untouched land. I had never left the east coast before, and aside from the Adirondacks, had never seen much in the way of wild lands. Wherever I was, I was pretty sure this wasn’t New York anymore. But how had I gotten here?  
To my left was a wide river that ended in a waterfall a few hundred yards up, and about a hundred feet down. Suddenly I noticed that a path lay on either side of the river! It had to lead somewhere. Now all I had to do was to find a way down. Carefully, I inched my way towards a steep slope on the side of the cliff, and slowly slid myself down. The sun went behind a cloud, and I felt a chill once again. I shivered, and wiped my dirty hands on my pants. I continued to slide down until I was on the same level as the river. I made it onto the path, on the right side bank of the river, and leaned over the edge to judge the depth of the water. It looked to be shallow enough to wade through. Cold as I was, I needed to get to the other side, so I resigned myself before stepping into the cold water. It wasn’t so bad at first, but once the water reached my belly, I began to gasp at the shock of the coldness. I raised my hands up above the water level, and focused on my breathing. As I crossed the river, I became keenly aware of the sound of voices up ahead. The path on the other side of the river continued straight for a bit, and then took a sharp turn to the left. From on top of the cliff ridge that I had been standing on, I wouldn’t have been able to see the wagon that sat there now. Three men were standing at the back. Two of the men seemed to be struggling to hold the back of the wagon up off the ground, while the last man was ramming his shoulder into a wheel. What on Earth was a wagon doing up here? And why were those men dressed like….cowboys??  
I decided that it would be in my best interest to call out to them. After all, I had no idea where I was, and they would probably have some idea where they were headed if they were in a wagon.  
“Hello?” I called out, climbing up the side of the river bank. My clothes were soaked, and my jean shorts were clinging uncomfortably to my legs. My shoes made a squishing sound with each step I took towards them.  
They didn’t seem to hear me, likely due to the sound of the waterfall, and the thumping of the man’s shoulder against the wheel.  
“Hello!” I called again, walking faster towards them. One of the men at the back looked up. I heard him say something, but couldn’t understand what he said. The other man looked up as well, and they both watched my approach.  
“Arthur,” I heard the man on the left say. He was older than the other two, with white hair and a kind, grandfatherly face. The man at the wheel stopped his ramming of the wheel and turned around. He stopped in his tracks when he saw me. The three men regarded me silently as the two at the back lowered the wagon back to the ground.  
“Hello,” I said again to break the silence.  
“Hello there, miss,” said the older man. He took a step towards me. “What might you be doing out here?”  
“I’m not sure,” I replied, “I’m lost, and I don’t know how I got here,” I admitted.  
“Why’re you dressed like that?” The man named Arthur asked me. I gave him a puzzled look.  
“Why are you dressed like that?”  
“What do you me-?” He began, but was cut off by Grandpa.  
“What’s your name, Miss?” I paused, not sure if I should give them my real name, but I decided that I could trust them with that much at least.  
“Emma,” I said simply.  
“Well Miss Emma, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Hosea, this is Arthur, and Charles. Do you know where you came from?” He asked me.  
“New York. I take it we’re not anywhere near there right now, are we?” All three men raised their eyebrows in surprise. Arthur and the black man on the right, apparently named Charles, exchanged a glance.  
“No Miss, we’re not. You’re in the Heartlands.” Said Hosea. That didn’t mean much of anything to me. ‘The Heartlands?’ Where was that? Colorado? I decided it wasn’t that important at the moment, what was important was getting to civilization, and getting away from these….reenactors? What were these men, and why were they dressed so authentically like people from the turn of the 20th century?  
“Can you.... Take me to civilization?” I asked. Hosea nodded.  
“Of course. If you’re willing to sit in the back of a wagon.”  
“Are you sure we can trust her, Hosea,” asked Charles.  
“I think so. She doesn’t look very dangerous to me.” Hosea replied, “Arthur, would you find Miss Emma a seat in the back of the wagon.”  
“Miss,” Arthur said, and stepped forward to take my arm. His fingers were remarkably warm against my cold, wet skin. I let him guide me towards the wagon. He shuffled a few ancient looking chests, and cleared a space on the floor of the wagon for me to sit. He offered me a hand to help me up into the wagon, and once I had lifted my foot to pull myself up, he took my waist in his hands and lifted me up into the bed of the wagon with ease. I felt my face go red as I regarded his strength, and the rest of his face. He was handsome in a rugged, mid-30s kind of way, and he sported a short light brown beard. He smelled like horses, and leather.  
“Arthur,” Hosea called out. Arthur, who I realized had been regarding me as well, turned on his heel, and took a stand beside Hosea and Charles. The three men were looking up at a ridge that I couldn’t see due to a tree standing between it and me.  
“Do you think they’re trouble?” Arthur asked. I strained forwards to see what they were looking at. Just barely, I could make out the shape of one figure atop a horse, though I suspected there were more behind the tree.  
“If they wanted to kill us, we wouldn’t have seen them,” said Charles. The three men stood for another moment, then Arthur turned away, and the other two followed suit. Hosea, however, stopped Arthur, by grabbing his shoulder. He spoke something quietly to the man, and they both glanced in my direction. They were clearly talking about me, but I was too nervous to bring it up.  
Charles hopped in the back of the wagon with me, sitting on the other side of a crate, while the other two men took the driver’s seat. Arthur snapped the reins and the horses tossed their manes as they started to walk.  
“Poor bastards,” said Hosea, “we really screwed them over down here,” I took that to mean that the figure I had seen was a Native American. We must be near a reservation.  
“What happened?” Asked Arthur. I was shocked that he needed to ask. I thought everyone knew about the treatment of Native Americans, and the Trail of Tears, and all that.  
“Keep following this trail, we’re not too far now,” Hosea stated before jumping into his narrative on the treatment of the Natives in the area. Apparently the Heartlands were impeccable farming and grazing lands that the Natives had been driven out of. They were either killed or sent to a very small reservation to the north.  
“And how’s that different than anywhere else?” Asked Charles.  
“Well, maybe it’s not, but I heard the soldiers in this area were particularly...unpleasant about their ways.”  
“When is killing and robbing people ever pleasant?”  
“Well, you see I was trying to simplify things for the benefit of our blockheaded driver here,” Hosea said with a joking smile.  
Arthur let out a stream of air, acknowledging the jest.  
“Hey, don’t blame it on me,” he said. After a short pause he raised a question.  
“What happened to your tribe, Charles?”  
“I don’t even know if I have one, at least not that I can remember. My father was a colored man, he lived with my mother’s people for a bit. When we were forced to move from our lands, the three of us fled. I was too young to really remember much.”  
Flee from his land? The last time Native Americans were made to move from their lands was a long time ago, at least as far as I knew. These people must be crazy, they took their roles as reenactors far too seriously. I resigned myself to make a break for it the moment civilization was in sight. I decided to risk it, however, by asking them about their quaint getup.  
“So, how long have you lot been...doing this?” I asked.  
“Doing what?” asked Charles.  
“Doing your, you know, reenacting?”  
“Our what?” he asked. Oh boy.  
“I- nevermind.” I said.  
“So, do you remember how you got here?” Asked Hosea.  
“Not really. One minute I was at home in New York, the next I was in the woods up there,” I said and pointed in the direction I had come from.  
“New York,” Hosea repeated, “you said that before. How did you end up out here?”  
“I have no idea,” I repeated. Everything felt fuzzy. I remembered being home, and something strange happening, but I couldn’t remember what. I really hoped these strange men could help me find my way home.  
We continued to ride at an agonizingly slow pace. I loved horses, but boy was I thankful for cars. I couldn’t wait to get on a bus or even a plane to get home as soon as possible. I looked down at my bare leg, and furrowed my brow. How had my leg healed on its own? Was my leg actually all better, and whoever had kidnapped me from my home had simply taken off my cast? There was no way my leg could already be healed through. Something had happened, and it made butterflies erupt in my stomach. I could tell something was wrong. These men were thoroughly convinced they were living in the early 1900s midwest, and my leg had miraculously healed itself. Could it be that I was actually in their time? No. Time travel was impossible, and it wouldn’t make any sense anyways. I had been at home - not in some advanced laboratory.  
The three men chatted about how they had met, and I listened half-heartedly, but it was hard to hear them over the sound of my heart pounding in my ears. We soon began to climb a steep inclined road, and Hosea announced that we were nearing Valentine, a town with a train station where they could drop me off. That sounded good to me, but I wasn’t sure why I had to use the train rather than a bus to an airport.  
“Maybe that ain’t such a good idea, Hosea,” Arthur muttered to his seat-mate.  
“I’m sure we’ll be alright, Arthur, and I could use a drink after all of this. They won’t miss us too badly at camp. At least not for a while,” Hosea replied. Again, I was puzzled. Why would it be a bad idea for them to drop me off at a train station? Were they criminals? Before I could give the situation any more thought, we peaked the incline and I could make out a town about a mile ahead of us. I breathed a sigh of relief. We continued on in silence for a while. Once we had covered about half the distance to the town I felt my heart sink. I could make out the buildings now, and I saw that they were very….quaint. The town was set up to look like an old west town, and it struck me that these men must be part of a cult, and this town was the epicenter. No wonder they had to take me to the train station. I figured the only other way out was by horse, as they were too delusional to have any cars.  
As we entered the town, I took note of how the other people dressed - exactly the same style as the three men in the cart with me. The women wore their hair in braids, or huge buns on the tops of their heads, and their 19th century midwest dresses trailed in the mud behind them. The horses plodded along on the muddy streets, each hoofstep making a sucking noise as it lifted out of the mud. We continued on until the train station, where Arthur pulled the reins back and halted the horses. He and Hosea then jumped off the front seat and moved to the back to give me a hand out of the back, but I was already halfway down.  
“Well, thank you,” I said with a forced smile, “hopefully I can find my way home from here.”  
“I hope so,” said Hosea. Arthur nodded in agreement.  
“You travel safe now, Miss,” he added.  
“Here’s a few dollars to cover the train ticket,” Hosea said and handed me a two dollar bill. It was definitely old, which didn’t surprise me too much, given the behavior of these men so far. I also scoffed inwardly at the idea of a train ticket costing only $2.  
“Thank you,” I said again and quickly turned away and headed inside the train station. It, too, was quaint, and largely empty aside from one man sitting reading a newspaper in the corner, and the ticketmaster at the box office. I moved up to the ticketmaster and smiled at him. He gave me an odd look as he scanned my outfit.  
“Hello, I’m lost,” I began, “I’m from New York. Rochester, New York, and I need to get home.”  
“Alright Miss,” he said and pulled out an old piece of paper with a black outlined map sketched upon it. He scanned it for a moment, then looked up at me. “Sorry Miss, I don’t see that town as one of our stops, could you tell me the name of a town nearby?” I furrowed my brows. I remembered there being several train stops in Rochester.  
“Uhm, well, what state are we in?” I asked  
“State? Ma’am we’re not in a state, this is New Hanover” he said. My heart sank. Oh no, could it be? I looked over at the man reading the newspaper. I moved away from the ticketmaster, and towards the newspaper. I could make out the headline: “Record freezing temperatures in Florida” and as I got closer I could make out just above that, the date: March 12th 1899. I felt dizzy. My head swam, and my vision became blurry for a moment before it cleared up again.  
“I-I need to go,” I said out loud and bolted out of the train station. Up ahead, I could see the wagon I arrived in parked outside one of the buildings. I ran to the building, ignoring the stares I received from the people around me. Either they weren’t crazy, or I was.  
I arrived at the porch of the building, and was about to throw open the door, when one of the two men waiting on the porch stepped forward and placed a hand on my shoulder.  
“Miss,” said a familiar voice. I looked up into the eyes of Arthur, and I breathed a slight sigh of relief.  
“Oh my God,” I said, and then was at a loss for what to say next, “I- you- you’re not crazy!” I said. He lowered his brows in confusion.  
“No...I suppose I’m not…” he stated with a questioning tone.  
“You’re gonna think I am, though,” I said.  
“Why’s that?” he asked and removed his hand from my shoulder.  
“Well,” I started, then looked past him at the other man on the porch. I didn’t recognize him. “Uhm, can I tell you somewhere else?” I asked. He nodded and led me off the porch down to the carriage. He hopped in the back, and sat with his legs dangling off the end. He knocked on the cart floor to signal me to take a seat beside him. I wasn’t confident this was far enough away from the man on the porch yet, but I would have to settle.  
“Now, why am I going to think you’re crazy?” Athur asked me.  
“What year is it?” I asked him first. He gave me a side-long look of judgement.  
“1899….why?” he asked. I laughed nervously. There was no way this was possible.  
“Oh, my, God.” I breathed, “this isn’t possible.”  
“What isn’t”  
“Look, you’re going to think I’m completely bonkers, there’s no way around it, but I’m from the year 2020. I somehow traveled back more than a century and I ended up here.” I said. Arthur just kept looking at me with that same sideways glance. I waited for him to say something for a good 20 seconds.  
“That’s funny,” he finally said, and slid out of the cart.  
“No, I’m serious! Why else would I be dressed so funny, and be so far away from my home?” I asked him. He regarded me for another moment.  
“Well, you are dressed funny,” he agreed with me, “we’ll have to see what Hosea says.” I didn’t want him to tell Hosea. I didn’t want them all to think I was crazy. I really didn’t want Arthur to think I was crazy, I found him pretty darn attractive, but he was the first one that I saw during my moment of panic, and it was too late now.  
“Wait!” I said as he started to walk away. “Don’t tell Hosea, please,” I said. Arthur lowered his brow again.  
“And why not?” he asked.  
“I don’t want him to think I’m crazy too. Just tell him I was kidnapped or something.” Arthur shook his head and sighed. He contemplated for a moment, then tossed his hands in defeat.  
“Alright, I suppose. I’ll tell him you couldn’t get home because it’s not safe there.” I nodded in thanks. I wasn’t sure if I trusted these men, but they were the only ones to help me so far, and they had treated me well up to this point.  
Arthur continued up the steps of the porch and swung open the door to the building, which I now realized was a bar. He was gone for about five minutes. While I waited for him to return I nabbed a blanket from the back of the cart and wrapped it around myself to hide my clothes and avoid the odd stares of people walking by. I shivered, partly from the cold spring air, which made me all the more grateful for the blanket around my shoulders, and partly from the shock of what I had discovered.  
Soon the sound of boots coming down the creaky wooden steps of the porch beside me alerted me to my three approaching saviors. I gave them a weak smile, and unfurled the blanket from around me.  
Hosea stepped forwards and regarded me for a moment.  
“Arthur tells me some men were looking for you in the train station,” he said.  
“That’s right,” I responded, trying not to look at Arthur.  
“So you can’t go home…” he continued on.  
“No,”  
“Then I suppose you’ll have to stay with us,” he clapped his hands together as if to state that it was decided, and I had no say in the matter. I was just about to remark that I was uncomfortable staying with a bunch of strange men, when Charles managed to assuage my fears.  
“The other women will be happy to have another set of hands. Not to mention Dutch,” he said. I gave them a polite smile, and I was about to decline, but I realized I really had no other options. I looked at Arthur, and something inside me said ‘stay.’ So I did.


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch 2: In which no editing was done

Hosea escorted me to the general store to pick up some new clothes so that I wouldn’t stand out like a sore thumb. I knew he didn’t believe Arthur’s story about the men in the train station, but he didn’t seem too interested in the truth. I also knew my clothes were a big giveaway that I wasn’t who I said I was.  
I thanked him profusely and frequently for buying me new clothes. I knew they were expensive, when adjusted for present day inflation. I selected a dress with a white bodice with ¾ length sleeves, a high neck, and a dark olive skirt, as well as a lighter olive apron. The apron had ornate leaves and vines embroidered into it in thread that matched the skirt. I also bought some bloomers and a pair of riding boots, which were the most expensive part. I recalled from my extensive YouTube research that most women didn’t really wear underwear; their bloomers had no crotch to them, and they just went to the bathroom through the hole. I, on the other hand, was not comfortable with this idea, so I left my Walmart panties on underneath my bloomers, and resigned myself to the knowledge that I would have to wash them every single day.  
I also kept my bra on. It was from Victoria’s Secret, and it was expensive so I didn’t want to throw it away, and I definitely didn’t want to wear a corset.  
I took a look at myself in the mirror of the dressing room, running my palms against my skirt, and swallowing hard. I certainly looked the part aside from my hair. I reached up and ran my fingers through my short hair. I wasn’t sure how I was going to achieve the elaborate hairstyles that I had seen atop the heads of passing women on the way into Valentine. None of them had hair that ran any shorter than above their shoulders. My hair, however, just barely met the length of my face, running even with my chin. I had my hair pulled back away from my face with a purple hair tie, but several strands from the front fell across my forehead, so I pulled the tie out and struggled to pull my hair back into a ponytail. I gave myself one last look in the mirror before bundling up my ragged t-shirt, shorts, and largely intact sneakers. I had been surprised to learn that socks were often made of stretchable nylon, which meant they stayed up relatively well. Still, I decided to hang on to my black ankle socks for now, and the sneakers, but unfortunately the shirt and pants were too tattered to go on.  
I disposed of the two garments, leaving them with the shopkeeper who was happy to take them. Hosea surprised me outside the dressing room with a canvas satchel to keep my shoes and socks in, as well as a few more pairs of socks to last me a couple days, and a simple nightgown for sleeping in. I thanked him yet again, and he waved it off, growing annoyed with my incessant gratitude. 

Charles and Arthur had gone into the saloon for a couple of beers. They offered to bring one out for Hosea and me, and I was going to refuse, but Hosea nodded gratefully, and they meandered off without giving me a chance to protest. Hosea and I waited on a bench in the alley between the general store and the saloon. He didn’t speak to me, which was surprising. He still didn’t seem interested in my situation - at least not enough to ask too many questions.  
“You...don’t seem awfully concerned,” I observed. Hosea turned his head to regard me for a moment, then looked back out into the street.  
“No, I suppose not. Should I be?” He answered. I shook my head, then realized he couldn’t see me.  
“Uh, no,” I quickly said.  
“That wasn’t awful convincing,” he stated. I shrugged. I wasn’t exactly an intimidating person, and I hardly knew which end of the gun was the barrel and which was the stock. If he was in any danger, it certainly wasn’t from me.  
“Well, I meant more about where I came from,” I clarified. He looked back at me and nodded slowly.  
“I know.” He looked up to see Arthur and Charles walking our way. “But let me be the first to tell you, I will find out who you really are.” He said this with a threatening tone, but to be honest I didn’t feel very intimidated. If he was going to find out what happened to me, more power to him. I myself didn’t know, and I would be grateful for the help.  
“Here ya go, Hosea,” Arthur said, handing him a bottle. Hosea stood, and accepted the bottle of beer with a nod. Charles simply held one out to me without speaking a word. I gingerly took it. The cap was already off, and it would be rude of me to waste it…  
I took a tentative sip, repulsed by the bitter flavor, but then the weight of my situation hit me, and I began to chug the cold brown liquid. As I lowered the now empty bottle from my lips, I looked up and met the eyes of Arthur, and noticed all three of them were looking at me.  
“Thirsty?” Hosea asked. I nodded dumbly.  
“We should get going,” Arthur stated quietly. He shot a glance across the street at a man reading a newspaper. The same man I had seen in the train station reading the newspaper about Florida. He was seated so that he had a clear view of us, but the newspaper quickly went up to hide his face when he caught us looking his way.  
“I recognize that man,” I whispered.  
“Me too,” said Arthur, and he turned on his heel and walked back towards the wagon.

I rode in the back with Charles again, but this time I rode with my legs dangling off the back on account of my skirt.  
“Where are we going?” I asked. It occurred to me that I hadn’t bothered to ask about my future lodgings yet.  
“Horseshoe Overlook,” Hosea said, “I’ve stayed there in the past when I was on the run.”  
“It’s a good place to lie low?” Arthur asked  
“And how low do you think Dutch is really gonna lie?” Hosea retorted. They both grinned, evidently knowing this ‘Dutch’ was not one for modesty.  
“Who is Dutch?” I asked, having heard his name twice now.  
“Our leader,” Arthur said.  
“You’ll meet him soon,” Hosea added.  
‘Our leader,’ like...a cult leader? I wondered. Oh dear.  
“Oh, is this like a religious thing?” I asked stupidly. All three of them laughed.  
“Heavens, no,” Hosea said, still chuckling. “Just about as far from that as you can get.”  
That settled it then. They were criminals, I was sure of it. I swallowed my fears, and mustered the courage to finally ask them.  
“Are you...outlaws?” The three men stayed silent for a moment. It was enough to answer my question without any of them speaking. Hosea and Arthur glanced at each other, and Charles stared straight into my eyes. Eventually Arthur and Hosea seemed to come to a consensus, and Arthur spoke up.  
“Yes, ma’am,” he said slowly, “we’re bad men, but we ain’t gonna do you any harm.”  
I nodded, but once again resigned myself to finding a way to escape as soon as I got my bearings.  
“All right, then,” I said, and looked down at my lap.

Most of the rest of the ride was spent in silence. The men talked about the weather, and the good old days, now free to discuss their criminal doings in front of me. Despite my suspicions that they had probably killed a lot of people, they didn’t seem to make light of it, which I found reassuring.  
“We’re getting close now,” Hosea said after a while. Moments later, a human silhouette emerged from the woods up ahead. It was a man in a hat and a sarape, the Mexican blanket-poncho that most vaqueros wore in movies. He certainly looked like he could be Mexican.  
“There you are, brother,” he said in a hispanic accent. “Head in there, and follow the trail for a bit.” He motioned to the trees behind him.  
“Thanks,” Arthur said.  
“Hey, slow up, and I’ll jump on,” the man said. He came around to the back, and when he spotted me, he froze in his tracks.  
“¿Quien es esta?” He asked.  
“This is-” Hosea started  
“Soy Emma Gilly,” I said, eager to show off my Spanish, though it truly wasn’t very good.  
“¿Habla español?” He asked, surprised. I nodded.  
“Un poquito.” I replied.  
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, señorita Gilly,” He said and hopped onto the side of the carriage, holding himself up like a garbage man on a garbage truck.  
“You as well,” I replied with a polite smile. Hosea turned in his seat to face the new man.  
“Any trouble getting in here, Javier?” He asked.  
“No, it went well. This is a good spot,” Javier replied  
“Excellent,” Hosea said, nodding his head in satisfaction. “I think this’ll work well for us Arthur. For now, anyway.”  
As the wagon moved into the clearing up ahead, I could see about a dozen people puttering around the makings of a small camp. Wagons were being converted into tents, and a large platform tent was being erected in the center of the clearing. A garishly dressed man with a mustache stood near this tent with his hands on his hips.. He appeared to be the only one not helping set up camp at the moment, aside from the five of us.  
Several horses stood to the left of us, where a makeshift hitching post had been driven into the ground. Most of them still had saddles on, while the others sported harnesses for pulling the wagons. Arthur pulled the wagon into the camp a little ways, and the richly dressed man turned around, and noticed our arrival.  
“You weren’t wrong, Hosea!” He called out, making his way over. “This place is perfect!”  
“I hope so,” Hosea said. He didn’t sound as enthusiastic as he had before. He slid from the driver’s seat and landed deftly on his feet beside the wagon. He seemed spry for his old age.  
“Gentlemen, we have survived,” the man spoke grandly. I had a feeling this was ‘Dutch’ based on his authoritative attitude.  
A table stood between the wagon and the tent, and Dutch stopped at the table, shooing a young black woman and an older man away.  
“For now, anyways. Now, it is time to prosper.” He leaned his weight on the table, and regarded us. Then his eyes caught mine.  
Charles scooted himself out of the wagon, and held out his hand to help me dismount. I accepted it, and stumbled forward, catching my foot on the rung that ran along the back of the wagon to climb up. I caught myself just in time - only my ego bruised. I straightened myself out and released Charles’s hand, flushed with embarrassment at my clumsiness.  
“Who is that?” Dutch spat at Hosea. He looked very angry.  
“This is Miss Emma Gilly,” Hosea replied. “We found her, or rather she found us, near the river when the wheel broke off. We took her in to Valentine to return her to her home, but she says it isn’t safe there. I figured she could stay with us until she figures things out.”  
“We also bought her some more suitable clothes,” Arthur chimed in, looking over his shoulder at me. I smiled meekly.  
“This is Dutch Van der Linde,” Hosea said. He opened his mouth to speak, but Dutch held up his hand to stop him.  
“You told her our names?” He growled. Hosea pursed his lips, clearly annoyed with the other man. I imagined that was his way of rolling his eyes.  
“Yes, I did. She is our guest and I sincerely doubt she will be of any trouble,” he replied. The way he said ‘guest’ made me think that maybe it wouldn’t be so easy for me to leave of my own free will.  
“Does she know what we do?” Dutch asked in a whisper that was too loud to stay secret from any of us.  
“Yes, she does. She guessed it herself,” Arthur spoke up.  
“Someone put her with the O’Driscoll until I figure out what to do with her,” Dutch said, pinching the bridge of his nose as if the thought of me wandering around his camp was about to give him an aneurysm.  
“I ain’t an O’Driscoll!” A far away voice called out. I looked to the source of the voice to see a young bedraggled looking man in a simple shirt and long johns tied to a tree on my right. If this was the O’Driscoll, I certainly didn’t want to end up with him…  
I gave a panicked look to Charles, who stood beside me. No one made a move to escort me anywhere, but Javier and Arthur shifted uncomfortably.  
“Are you all deaf?” Dutch roared. “I said-”  
“We heard what you said, Dutch,” Hosea interrupted. “Like I said though, she is our guest and I’m not going to let her be treated like a prisoner.”  
“Well if she knows who we are, and what we do, then she can’t be allowed to go free.” Dutch practically hissed through his teeth.  
“You’re right...but I really don’t think she’ll be any trouble. She’s just a lost girl,” Hosea replied, but he looked at me as if he was starting to ponder my presence in the camp.  
“I won’t tell anyone, I swear. I’m not from around here, I don’t know anyone,” I spoke up to defend myself.  
“Hosea, I think it might be best if we, you know, make sure she doesn’t leave,” Arthur said, and looked at me with a cold measuring gaze. Charles nodded in agreement, and he grabbed my arm in a tight grasp to keep me where I stood.  
“Fine, tie her to the tree then,” Hosea sighed, defeated, and waved a dismissive hand.  
“What?! No, please, I won’t go anywhere, I swear!” I yelled. The other members of the camp dropped what they were doing and began to huddle around us, watching me - the unknown newcomer.  
Arthur moved to take my other arm, and they pulled me towards the O’Driscoll, whatever an O’Driscoll was, and Arthur produced a rope from his satchel and tied it around my ankles. Charles then picked me up bridal style and plopped me on the ground beside the O’Driscoll. A rope was then tied from the rope between my ankles to the same tree the O’Driscoll stood tied to, which gave me more wiggle room than he had.  
“What the hell?!” I called out. “What did I do to you?!” I demanded from no one in particular.  
“One of the ladies will come over and set up a bed for you in a bit,” Charles said, and walked away with Arthur. I swore at them with a long string of curses, but it didn’t do anything to help my situation.

Eventually, I got tired of sitting up, so I laid down with my knees propped up. I knew it wasn’t a lady-like posture, but my skirt was long enough to hide anything improper. Although at this point, Arthur, Charles and Hosea would have already seen as much of my legs as they would probably see on a prostitute. My shorts were not very long. I exhaled, blowing a piece of hair from my face, and stared up into the bright blue sky. It was partially obscured by tree branches and leaves, but it was still bright enough to make my eyes water.  
“Hey, what’s your name?” The O’Driscoll spoke up. I turned my head to look at him.  
“Emma,” I said, “What’s yours?”  
“Kieran. Kieran Duffy,” he said, and slowly relaxed his knees until he managed to pull his body down to the ground to sit.  
“Nice to meet you,” I said blankly. It occurred to me suddenly that I was very tired.  
“You too,” he said. “And no matter what they say, I’m not an O’Driscoll, I just ran with them for a short time.”  
“What’s an O’Driscoll?” I asked, and sat up, hugging my knees.  
“You’ve...never heard of the O’Driscolls?” He asked.  
“No, I’m not from around here,” I said, “I’m from New York.”  
“Oh, damn, that’s a long ways away,” he observed. I regarded him for a moment. He was young, probably a couple of years older than me. He sported a beard, and long greasy brown hair. I figured the greasy nature of his hair was not his doing, but was a result of his imprisonment with this gang. I wondered how long they would have me tied up.  
Kieran and I chatted for a good while. He told me that the O’Driscolls were a gang, like Dutch’s, but they weren’t so close-knit. They also seemed to be more ruthless than Dutch’s boys. Kieran had been given a choice by the O’Driscolls. Ride with them, or die. He said that didn’t give him much of a choice, so he tagged along, mostly taking care of the horses. The way he talked about them, it was clear that he was very fond of horses. I smiled at this, and we talked about the animals for a good while.  
Kieran then began to fill me in on what had happened to Dutch’s gang. Kieran had been in a state called “Ambarino” in some old mining town with the O’Driscoll gang. He rode off on an errand for their leader, Colm, and when he was a little ways off from the town he heard gunshots. Apparently, Dutch’s gang had killed all of the O’Driscolls in that abandoned town, but hadn’t scored Colm. Kieran was then captured by Arthur, and was held prisoner in their camp in another mining town not far from the one Kieran had been in. He wasn’t given food or water for three days until Mary-Beth, a girl in this gang, took pity on him.  
Kieran found out, through the gang’s interactions with one another, that they had run some kind of job in Blackwater, a city to the South, that had gone badly. They were up in Ambarino on the run from the law, and had come to this state, New Hanover, to escape the cold.  
I looked out at the camp. Most of the tents had been set up by then. Arthur, Dutch, and Hosea stood in the center of camp, talking. The women were finishing up on their wagon/tent, and a chuck wagon - a real honest to goodness chuck wagon - was being set up to our right.  
Between us and the wagon was a fire with a big black kettle hung from a spit hovering over the flames. A fat middle aged man that one of the girls called “Mr. Pearson” was hunched over it, slowly adding ingredients to the pot.  
“Mrs. Adler, would you and one of the other women go and get us some more water?” He asked a blonde woman nearby. She looked weather-worn, but she was still beautiful. She nodded, then looked at me.  
“Can I take her?” she asked, nodding in my direction. “The others are pretty busy.”  
“I don’t see why not,” Mr. Pearson said, “If she’s gonna eat our food, she better pull her weight. Ask Dutch first though.”  
Mrs. Adler looked at me for a minute before turning to head for Dutch and the other two men. She exchanged a few words with the men, and then headed back towards me.  
“She’s mean, that one,” Kieran whispered.  
“How so?” I asked.  
“Whenever she has to bring me food, she throws it on the ground. She’s got a temper just look out,” he said.  
“Thanks,” I whispered back as she approached earshot.  
“You, girl, you’re coming with me,” she said.  
“So I heard,” I said, and gestured at the ropes around my ankles. Mrs. Adler knelt by my feet to untie the rope, and when she had untied me, she yanked me to my feet by the arm.  
“Grab those buckets, and follow me,” she said, pointing at the four buckets beside the chuck wagon. I gathered the buckets while Mrs. Adler moved towards the horses at the edge of the overlook. She called out to Arthur and pointed at a paint mare. He nodded in response, and she moved to the paint, leading it back towards an empty cart not far away. She harnessed the horse as I approached, and then hopped up into the seat. She jerked her head toward the back of the cart.  
“You sit back there,” she commanded. I climbed up into the cart that was just barely big enough to take four people if they were squished in, and sat on the bench on the side. Mrs. Adler snapped the reins and the paint started forwards. I set the buckets down beside me, and folded my hands in my lap, looking down at them. My fingernails were dirty, so I set to picking the dirt out from them as we drove out of camp.


	3. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3: In which I confuse myself

Mrs. Adler eventually introduced herself as Sadie Adler. Or rather, she corrected me when I addressed her as “Mrs. Adler” when asking where we were headed.  
“To the river to get water,” she replied.  
“How far is it?” I asked.  
“Not very,” she replied shortly. I took that to mean questions were not welcome.  
Sadie was right, it was not very far to the river. Maybe a 10 minute ride down at the most. I was surprised that she hadn’t taken the time during the ride to ask who I was. Kieran had informed me before that she hadn’t been with the gang for long, so she probably wasn’t as concerned about my loyalty to the group, but I figured she would have at least some interest in the reason why a random woman had shown up in the camp and was immediately tied to a tree.  
Rather than worry about the opinion of the stoic woman at the front of the cart, I decided to turn my attention to the scenery. The trees had begun to thin as we went down the slope of the overlook, and the plateaus I had seen in the distance when I emerged from the woods near the waterfall towered into the sky on the other side of the river, about half a mile away. They looked so much bigger from this perspective, and I wasn’t even at the base of one.

We neared the edge of the river, and the horse slowed to a halt as Sadie pulled back on the reins. I jumped down off the back of the cart, and retrieved the four buckets. Sadie dropped the reins, and sat staring at me. I stared back for a moment, then extended a bucket towards her. She cocked an eyebrow in response.  
“They ain’t for me. Get to work,” she said. I scoffed.  
“What, you want me to do all the work?”  
“Yes, I do. You’ve gotta earn your place in that camp,” Sadie said and folded her arms. I rolled my eyes, but headed for the river. I wasn’t really in a good place to argue with her. I hiked up my skirt as best I could with two empty buckets in my hands, and stepped out into the river. I figured this water was for cooking or drinking, so they wouldn’t appreciate rocks or sand in their water. That meant I would have to step out into deeper water in order to avoid any pebbles and silt.  
Eventually I gave up on keeping my skirt dry, and let it fall into the water. I stopped once I thought the river was deep enough, and dipped both buckets into the current, then scooped them back up. Wet and cold, I trudged back to the cart with soaked shoes and socks, and set the full buckets in the back of the cart. I repeated the process with the other two buckets, and then climbed back into the cart.

By the time the sun began to set, I was tied back to the tree. A shoddy looking bedroll had been laid out for me to lay on, and a Navajo rug was rolled up at the head of the bedroll for me to use as a pillow.  
I unrolled the blanket and wrapped it around my shoulders as the heat of the day began to wane. It stank of horse sweat, so I assumed that it had originally been a horse blanket, but I was thankful for the barrier between me and the cold night air. I glanced at Kieran, feeling pity for him. He sat slumped against the tree with his head leaned back against its trunk, and his eyes closed tightly as if to block out a bright light.  
I scooted closer to the man, and wrapped the other side of my blanket around his shoulder. He jerked his eyes open, surprised at my touch, then recognized my good intentions, and relaxed.  
“Thank you,” he said with a genuine smile. I gave him a weak smile back, and then leaned forward to get a better view of the table where most of the camp was sitting and eating their dinner. A single lamp sat in the middle of the table, illuminating their faces with a bright orange glow that contrasted with the ghostly dark blue of the dusk landscape. As I watched the people eat and laugh, I suddenly felt myself missing my family and friends. I hadn’t even been gone for a day, but I felt so alone and scared. I felt tears well up in my eyes, and my nose began to leak like my shower head at home. As if to supplement my emotional breakdown, my stomach made itself known by letting out a loud grumble, and it occurred to me that I had no idea when the last time I ate was. The last thing I knew I had ingested was a beer.  
A figure stood up from the table. It was one of the men, but I couldn’t tell who it was, as he was facing away from me. When he turned around I saw that it was Arthur. I felt betrayed that he had tied me to the tree after I had disclosed my situation to him in Valentine. He made his way towards me, but stopped at the kettle. He picked up a bowl and a spoon, and dished out a bowl of whatever was in the pot, then resumed his approach towards Kieran and me.  
“I see you two are getting along well already,” Arthur said, holding out the bowl to me. I took it, and dipped the spoon into the stew inside. I raised the spoon to my lips and blew on the liquid before putting it in my mouth. It was still too hot.  
“What about Kieran?” I asked after swallowing the burning liquid.  
“What about him?” Arthur asked.  
“Doesn’t he get dinner?”  
“No, he doesn’t. Not tonight,” Arthur replied. Kieran clenched his jaw in anger, but didn’t say anything.  
“Why not?” I demanded.  
“Because he ain’t giving us the information we need,”  
“Well what if I give him some of mine?” I asked, “what would you do.”  
“Nothing, I suppose. That’s your decision,” Arthur said and walked away. I dipped the spoon back into the stew and held it in front of Kieran’s mouth. He shook his head.  
“It’s yours, you need it,” he said.  
“You look like you need it more than I do,” I said. He sighed, but I could tell he was very hungry. Finally he began to blow on the stew and accepted the spoonful.  
I alternated between taking bites of the stew and giving some to Kieran until the bowl was empty. He thanked me with a warm smile once it was gone. I yawned in response, and Kieran commanded me to go to bed. I left him with the blanket, and crawled into my bedroll for the night.

When I woke up, my legs were so stiff I could hardly move them. Between laying on the ground all night and having to keep my legs at a certain angle because of my restraints, my body was not very pleased with our situation. I groaned quietly and stretched as best I could, then I propped myself up on my elbows.  
Squinting at the camp in front of me, I saw that the busy bustle of the day had already begun. I had no idea what time it was, but I knew it was spring, and the sun was bright already, so it had to be after eight o’clock.  
“I hope you slept well,” Kieran said from beside me. The tone in his voice made it sound like there was a reason for his statement.  
“I sure didn’t,” I said, “why?”  
“Arthur said he was gonna take you out shooting, or maybe he said he was going to shoot you, I don’t know,” he replied. Part of me hoped it was the latter.  
“Do you know why?” I asked.  
“No. I just overheard him talking to Hosea over by the fire earlier when they were getting coffee. Hosea said to let you sleep,”

Sure enough, about half an hour later, Arthur came striding over to Kieran and me with a rifle strapped to his back, and a much smaller one in his hand. Something about his posture told me he was not about to shoot me in the head. Darn.  
“Alright girl, you ever shot a gun before?” he asked once he was close enough for me to hear.  
“Yeah,” I said. Once, I said internally. I didn’t really want to tell him that part.  
“What did you shoot, a rifle? A revolver?” he asked, slinging the smaller rifle onto his back with the other one.  
“A pistol. A 9mm,” I said. Arthur crouched to untie my bindings, and looked up into my eyes. I could see that he didn’t know what that was. It occurred to me that 9mm pistols may not have been invented yet. I could also see that he had a pair of really beautiful eyes. They were blue, but they had a sort of teal tint to them, and the center of his iris was hazel. Just as quickly as he had looked up, our shared gaze was broken, and I found myself excited for the next time I got to meet his eyes.  
He finished untying my restraints, and I stood stiffly with the help of his extended hand.  
“Oh, man that hurts,” I said groaning.  
“The first few days are the worst,” said Kieran from behind me.  
“Shut up, O’Driscoll,” Arthur sneered. Kieran set his jaw like before, and looked away. I shot him an apologetic look, as Arthur began to stalk away, and I was left to trot after him.  
The paint mare Sadie and I had taken down to the river was already saddled up, and waiting at the hitching post. I frowned when I realized Arthur and I would have to share a horse, and even if I was on my own I would have to sit side-saddle.  
Arthur stopped beside the mare, and patted her neck.  
“There, girl,” he murmured quietly. I found myself wishing that I was able to pet the horse too.  
“What’s her name?” I asked as I moved up beside Arthur. I held out a hand and gingerly began to stroke her flank.  
“She doesn’t have one yet,” Arthur said. “The O’Driscolls killed Mrs. Adler’s husband, and they took to living in her house. This horse was in the barn when we took the house back from them. We think she was one of theirs.”  
From the way Arthur and the others talked, the O’Driscolls did seem to be an awfully bad gang, but I still wasn’t sure that I was safe with this one. Surely they had killed their fair share, and had robbed plenty of people.  
Arthur seemed to notice the look on my face, but he misjudged it as disgust for the O’Driscolls.  
“They’re bad people - we’re bad people, but we ain’t them.” He paused, thinking something over for a moment, “They killed one of our girls, Annabelle. Dutch started this whole...feud, though.”  
“How?” I asked, lowering my hand from the horse’s side.  
“He killed Colm’s brother.” Arthur said matter-of-factly, and looked at me. I lowered my brow for a moment. If Dutch had started it, then the O’Driscolls weren’t the instigators. In my mind, that made the Van der Linde gang the ones in the wrong. Of course, two wrongs don’t make a right - they shouldn’t have killed Annabelle. My face gave my thoughts away yet again and Arthur took note of it.  
“It was justified. His brother had tried to kill Annabelle before for stealing from him. He was fully intending to kill her. Dutch and Annabelle were sweet on each other, you see, and Dutch doesn’t just let you go once you threaten someone he loves.”  
I still didn’t feel that it was fully justified. You don’t have to kill someone to get a point across. In fact, killing someone ensures that they will _never_ fully understand your point.  
“Let’s go,” Arthur said, and patted the saddle on the back of the paint. I took that to mean I was in front. Yippee.  
I lifted my foot up to the stirrup, and swung myself into the saddle. I realized my mistake after I had sat down. My skirt was splayed all across the horse's back. I figured I should sit side saddle, but I was already so comfortable in my seat, so I simply gathered up my skirt in front of me, and tried to cover my lower legs as best I could.  
Arthur then knocked my foot out of the stirrup with his hand and put his own foot into it in order to climb onto the horse’s back. Once he had seated himself, he took his foot out of the stirrup so that I could replace mine. He then reached around me to take the reins. I felt my face flush at the close contact, embarrassed that I may not smell too good. Moments later, however, I recognized that Arthur did not smell too good.  
“That’s not exactly a conventional way to sit in a dress…” he stated.  
“I’m not exactly a _conventional_ woman, am I?” I asked. Truly, I acted about as strange to these people as an alien might.  
Arthur squeezed his knees into the mare’s sides, and she started forwards. We rode out of camp in silence. A pair of dead trees marked the entrance to the camp. One of them had snapped in half and toppled over, and had landed on the trunk of the other dead tree, making a lopsided triangle that spread over the trail. It looked to me like something that you would see in a fantasy movie, like Bridge to Terabithia, that would transport you to another world. Unfortunately, I was not transported anywhere else as we rode through the mystic looking gateway, and I remained in the saddle of a lanky mare, and in the presence of a stinky man.


	4. IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which my writing style changes frequently, and I talk about testicles.

Arthur took us to the river, near the spot Sadie had taken me to fetch water. He found a stump with a flat top, and pulled six empty spirit bottles from his bag. He set them up in a half circle, and made his way back to me, about 20 feet away. He swung the smaller of the two rifles off his shoulder and pressed it into my hands. I held it awkwardly, - similar to the first time I ever held a baby -it felt fragile in my hands, like I might break it if I held it too firmly.

“Hold it like this,” Arthur instructed, taking hold of my hand and placing it about halfway up the forestock, near the spot where the strap was connected to the body. He then pushed the stock up against my chest, right of my sternum, and just below my collar bone.

“Don’t hold your elbow up like that,” he said and pushed my right elbow down so that it was parallel with the ground, “you look like a bird.”

I shifted ever so slightly, trying to make the gun more comfortable in my hands, but Arthur stopped me.

“You just moved the butt of the rifle against your shoulder,” he said. “If this was a higher power rifle you’d dislocate it. Always keep against your chest -” he moved it back to the spot under my collarbone, “- here.”

I swallowed, nervous for my performance. He nodded towards the bottles on the stump, ready for me to take aim and fire. My mind, however, was on another subject. I know had a gun in my hands - I was armed, and my captor stood vulnerable beside me. I could just aim the gun at him, and then-

“And before you get any idea about shooting me, that’s a varmint rifle. Worst you could do with that, unless you were a real good shot, is make me bleed,” he spoke up, dashing my hopes on the rocks. I was certain I could kill him with a BB gun if I was determined enough, but he had read my face yet again, and now he was expecting it.

I pursed my lips, and raised the gun. I looked down the sights - or at least what I assumed were the sights, and placed my finger on the trigger.

_ POP _

All six bottles stood resilient, mocking me from their wooden pedestal. I lowered the gun in defeat.

“Try again,” Arthur encouraged me. I looked at him, but instead of raising the gun, I raised a question.

“Why are you doing this? Teaching me to shoot?” I asked. Arthur inhaled through his nose, thinking before he spoke.

“If you’re gonna stick with our gang for a little while, you better learn to defend yourself,” he said, “This was Hosea’s idea. Dutch wasn’t too keen on the idea, but he’ll get over it.”

“How much longer do I have to stay tied to that tree?” I asked, and pulled the gun up again.  _ Pop. _ Another miss.

“I reckon it won’t be more than a few days. Don’t tell anyone I said that though,”

_ Pop _ .

“Why is he so mistrustful? I’m just a girl, I don’t even know who you people are,” I said, looking down the sights.

“Try breathing in as you aim, and exhale as you pull the trigger. Some people say that helps,” Arthur said, before answering my question, “He’s worried. He thinks you’ll turn us in now that you know who we are.”

_ Pop-crash.  _ The sound of a shattering bottle was music to my ears. I lowered the gun, proud of myself, but my triumph was short-lived as Arthur stepped in front of me, and grabbed my arm with bruising force. I winced, and instinctively lifted my other arm to his hand to try and pry it off.

“You won’t do anything stupid, right girl?” He asked, his voice a low growl. I shook my head.

“No,” I finally said when he still didn’t release my arm. He nodded, satisfied, and let go. I gently rubbed the spot where his fingers had dug into my skin, as he stepped back to my side.

“Try to get the other bottles,” he said as if he hadn’t just threatened me.

After several tries, I knocked down the other five bottles. They taunted me as I shot and missed multiple times. When the last one finally keeled over, Arthur nodded, pleased.

“A little more practice, and you might achieve mediocrity,” he jested. I set my jaw at that.

On the ride back, Arthur decided to address my insane story back in Valentine.

“So… you think you’re from what year? 2000?”

“2020,” I corrected, “and I don’t ‘think’, I am from that year. Well. No, I’m from the year 1999, that’s when I was born,” I rambled on.

“Alright, then tell me about the future,” he demanded as the mare below us plodded up the hill to the campsite.

“Uhhh what about it?” I asked.

“Tell me about wars. Are there any coming our way soon?” Even though he sounded like he didn’t care one way or the other, I detected a slight tinge of hopefulness to his voice, like he was dreading a positive answer from me. I thought for a moment. Should I tell him about World War I? I decided maybe I should make some mention of it… After all this was just one man, surely that whole ‘Butterfly Effect’ was a load of crap, right?

“Yes,” I said finally, “a big one, several countries are involved, it’s called the First world war. It’s the worst the world has ever seen,” I thought for a moment longer“It’s about 15 years away,” I added finally, “and America has a really great couple of years after that,”

“What did you mean by ‘the worst the world has seen,’” Arthur asked. I shook my head.

“It’s very violent - a lot of new inventions are made to kill people, to make them really really dead,” I said. “But I didn’t do well in history class in school, sorry.”

“You said the First World War,” he said, “there’s another?”

“Yeah, another one, it tops the first one in most aspects. There’s this one really bad guy in Germany who kills like, all of the Jewish people there, and in Poland, and probably other places - like I said, I didn’t do well in history class - but that ones more than 40 years away, and America doesn’t get involved in either war for some time after they start.”

“And I’m supposed to believe all of this?” Arthur asked skeptically. I sighed and shrugged my shoulders.

“Do what you will,” I said, defeated. Personally, if someone told me about two wars in that much detail, I probably would have believed them.

We arrived back at camp a few minutes later, and I was promptly tied back to the tree with Kieran.

“Really? You trust me with a gun in my hands, but you won’t trust me in your camp?” I shouted at Arthur’s back as he walked away.

“A varmint rifle,” he shouted over his shoulder. I huffed and flopped down onto the ground, legs stretched out in front of me, and my skirt splayed out in a fan shape.

“Well, did you get anything?” Kieran asked. I shook my head.

“Just a couple of bottles,” I said. I closed my eyes, and sighed, wishing I was at home watching Shrek again. I missed my mom and my dad. Thomas, my brother, I could stand without, but I guess I still missed him.

“O’Driscoll!” an unfamiliar voice roared from across the camp. I snapped my eyes open, and sat up with the help of my elbows.

A big man with shaggy hair and a beard came storming towards us. He reminded me a bit of Hagrid from the Harry Potter movies, except he had one of those cowboy hats where one of the sides was pinned up...a slouch hat, I think they were called. Dutch was in tow.

“Oh, no,” Kieran cried out. I saw Arthur turn around, having heard the big man shout, and came sauntering after him.

“It seems a cat has got our friend here’s tongue,” Dutch called out as they got closer. “I was thinking Mr. Williamson could have a word.”

“You ready to talk, boy?” Mr. Williamson growled.

“I told you, mister” Kieran started as he struggled to stand, “I told all of you. I don’t know nothing, okay? They-they ain’t no friends of mine. I just been riding with them for a while.”

“Horseshit,” Mr. Williamson sneered, and lunged forward. Dutch held his hand out to stop him. “You see, we heard that part, so how about you tell the truth.” Mr. Williamson turned his wild eyes onto Dutch.

“Dutch, what do you want me to do?” he asked.

“Hurt him,” Dutch replied calmly. “So the next time he opens his mouth, it is to tell us what is going on.” Mr. Williamson nodded, and raised his fists to hit Kieran. The boy winced, and pressed himself as tight against the tree as he could manage. 

“Oh, who am I kidding?” Dutch said, stopping Mr. Williamson. “One of O’Driscoll’s boys couldn’t open his mouth, but he’d tell a lie. Screw it. Let’s just have some fun.” He stepped close to Kieran, who was still plastered to the tree. He pulled away as hard as he could, given his restraints, as if to escape some horribly bad breath emanating from Dutch.

Dutch stepped back, quiet. Arthur and Mr. Williamson watched him, awaiting orders. Finally, Dutch spoke.

“Geld him.” He said.

“Oh yeah!” Mr. Williamson shouted as he broke out into a wild grin. My jaw dropped in shock. Surely I had misheard them. Arthur had a smirk on his face, too, but he shook his head, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Kieran, meanwhile, was squirming, desperately trying to escape. The whites of his eyes were clearly visible, and his face reminded me of a horse, spooked by a loud noise.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Dutch said in a mock-soothing voice, “they’re only balls, boy.” He crouched to yank down Kieran’s pants. The boy protested by squealing like a traumatized rabbit.

“Just gonna cause you trouble. You know, in Imperial Rome, eunuchs was among the happiest, and most loyal of courtiers.” Dutch said, but I was pretty sure Kieran wasn’t listening. Both he and I had our eyes set on Mr. Williamson, who was running back towards us with a pair of what looked like giant wire cutters. The shears at the ends glowed white hot, as he had held them over the coals of a fire on the other side of camp, as if roasting a marshmallow. A very sharp, metal marshmallow that was about to meet the sensitive parts of this poor man, whose balls were at the mercy of three men that I was no longer sure were the “good guys.”

“No, no, no, no, no” Kieran repeated as Mr. Williamson chopped at the air with the shears for dramatic effect. 

“You-you’re kidding me right?” he shouted. “You sick bastards!” His voice raised an octave as Mr. Williamson jabbed the shears forwards, startling him. “What do you want from me?!” He screamed.

“Well, you are going to talk. The only question is now, or after we’ve got these little fellers off.” Dutch said. Mr. Williamson giggled maniacally, and snipped the air once again.

“Okay, okay! Listen, I know where O’Driscoll’s is holed up,” Kieran said, his voice shaking. “And you’re right, he don’t like you, any more than you like him.” He paused, meeting Mr. Williamson’s eyes. The big man took this momentary halt to make one last threatening jab at the boy’s nether region, before Kieran spilled the beans.

“He’s at Six Point Cabin!” He yelled out.

“Aww…” Mr. Williamson whined, disappointed that he had not been allowed to geld anyone today. He straightened up, and held the shears away from the boy.

“I’ll take you there, serious! I don’t like him. I mean, I like him even less than I like you lot, no offense,” Kieran offered.

“Oh, none taken,” Dutch said, and waved Mr. Williamson and his smoking shears away.

“Alright then, partner,” Arthur said, stepping forward with his thumbs in his belt loops. “Why don’t you take a few of us up there right now. I got this, Dutch.” He whipped a knife from a sheath on his belt, and sliced through the rope that held Kieran - and me - to the tree. Once he was free, Kieran stooped over, and pulled up his pants. He shot an apologetic look at me.

“Alright you, come on, let’s go,” Arthur said and pushed Kieran forwards towards the horses. He looked down at me, and suddenly seemed to realize that I was no longer tied to anything. Of course, my feet were still tied together. “And you, stay put.” He added quickly.

“Yessir,” I said, and saluted him sarcastically. He sighed and shook his head as they walked away.


	5. V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Emma makes a bad decision, and has a sad dream about Cheerios :(

I sat slouched against the tree I shared with Kieran. The late morning sun peered over the treetops to gaze upon my face. My eyelids began to feel impossibly heavy as I grew bored watching the gang mill around camp.

Arthur had dragged Kieran off with him to Six Point Cabin, wherever that was. A man with a scarred face, about the same age as Arthur, named John and Mr. Williamson - whose name apparently was Bill - tagged along. The four of them had been gone for about 20 minutes. After they had left, I had repositioned myself, happy to be free of my bonds to the tree, even if my ankles were still tied together.

My eyes soon fluttered closed, and I began to drift off. I dreamt of my bed at home.

I dreamt I spilled Cheerios on my sheets, and I was brushing them off, but no matter how hard I sweeped my hand across the bed, they would only move a fraction of an inch. I began to grow frustrated, and swept my hand as hard as I could when my mom appeared beside me, and said,

“Hey!”

I tried to explain to her that I had spilled my Cheerios, and I suddenly felt very emotional. How was I going to fix this if I couldn’t even move the Cheerios?

“Hey!” my mom said again, and then I felt something hard hit me in my side.

“Ow,” I said, and suddenly my mom and my bed were gone and I was staring up into the sun. The silhouette of a woman looked down at me with the sun as a white-yellow halo around her head. I didn’t know where I was. Last I knew, I was at home in my room.

“Mornin’ sweetheart,” rang the sarcastic voice of a southern woman from the shadow above me.” Just then, my mental faculties returned, and my eyes had adjusted enough to the bright light of the sun to recognize one of the girls from the gang as the woman standing over me. Her light blonde hair was tied up in a knot on top of her head, and the hairs that escaped the hold of her hair pins were meticulously curled. Her dress was about as immodest as mine was modest; the neckline dove low so that her breasts were practically ready to pop right out of the top. She had the bodice tied tight so that they wouldn’t go anywhere, but it was evident that she wasn’t wearing a corset, or bra, or whatever most women of her stature would normally wear. She also had quite large boobs - at least a double D. Her body structure was also on the bigger side, with her wide hips and shoulders, and big arms. I sat up groggily, and blinked at her.

“Get up, the girls and I want to have a talk with you,” she said, hands on her hips. Behind her stood two other women. The girl on the right was slim, with dark skin, and a short sleeved dress with a white bodice, and summery yellow skirt. Her face was slim, and cute, with small features aside from her cat-like eyes, and full lips. Her black curls were pulled away from her face in a loose bun on the back of her head, and she had a wild look in her eye.

The other girl was pretty, but in a sort of plain, housewife way. She was pale, and sported freckles and a beauty mark on the left side of her face, just above her mouth. Her face was shapely, with smaller, almond shaped eyes that were ever so slightly downturned. Her nose was a bit on the short side, and was small - what you would call a button nose, and she had full lips. She wore a green shawl over a lavender shirtwaist, and a maroon skirt. Her hair was curled like the blonde that stood over me, but her brown hair fell loose around her shoulders, except for the front pieces which were pinned back.

It occurred to me that I must look strange to them. My appearance did not match theirs, and I didn’t look nearly as confident in this attire as they did, no doubt.

“Yeah?” I said sleepily once I had thoroughly absorbed their appearance.

“Come on, girl, we’re gonna go for a walk,” the blonde woman said and bent to untie my legs.

“I’m Mary-Beth,” said the girl in the maroon dress, “This is Tilly,” she motioned to the darker skinned girl, “and Karen.”

“Emma,” I offered. Mary-Beth gave me a shy, but polite smile.

“It’s nice to meet you Emma,” she said.

“Don’t go thinking we’re all friends now,” Karen said. I looked down at her, and realized she had cut the ropes with a knife rather than untying them. She threw the tangled mass to the ground and straightened up.

“Let’s go,” said Tilly, “I’ve got a revolver,” she opened a pouch that sat on her hip. Sure enough, inside was a shiny steel revolver. The way she had announced its presence gave me a feeling that it wasn’t for protection from outlaws…

The three girls led me down the trail that Arthur and I had left by this morning. They chatted for a while about Kieran. They seemed to think he was dangerous, but I got the feeling that Mary-Beth had at least some pity for the man. As they talked, Karen mentioned that Sadie was infuriated this morning that he had been let go, even under the watchful eye of three of the best men the gang had to offer.

“She was pissed,” Karen said, with a sarcastic laugh.

“I know, ‘Dutch, you can’t  _ possibly  _ trust him to leave. You shoulda just killed him now!’” Mary-Beth imitated in a high-pitched mocking voice. Tilly and Karen laughed at her falsetto.

“Why  _ does  _ Sadie hate him so much?” I asked. The women all stopped and turned to look at me.

“Same reason anyone hates an O’Driscoll: they killed someone she loved. They killed her husband,” Karen said. If I wasn’t mistaken, I swore I heard a hint of sympathy in her voice, despite the hard look on her face as she spoke about the rival gang. Tilly set her jaw. Clearly she had some history with the gang as well.

“I know that, but why does she blame Kieran for it?” I asked, trying to connect the dots. 

“Well, he  _ is _ an O’Driscoll,” Karen said like I was quite possibly the dumbest person she had ever had the displeasure of meeting. I opened my mouth to say, ‘no, he isn’t’, but I decided now wasn’t a good time. 

We walked on for a while more, turning left at the two dead trees, and heading down the path that led to the river. I absently listened as the girls kept talking, but my mind was elsewhere. I worried about Kieran, and about Arthur. The other two men were on my mind as well, but I didn’t know them all that well, and Bill had frankly frightened me.

“This looks like a good spot,” Karen said. I looked around us to try to determine what she meant by that. We were near a large maple that stood by itself in the middle of a grassy patch that separated the woods where the gang had made their camp, and the railroad tracks that stretched their way from some unknown origin to Valentine, and likely beyond. The part of the path that began to slowly descend the hill to reach the river was just up ahead, and to the left. The path we were currently on continued up ahead, and if we followed it, we would arrive in Valentine

Suddenly, behind me, I heard a  _ click _ , like the hammer of a gun being pulled back,

“Who are you?” Tilly sneered. My eyes shot open as wide as they could get, and I whirled around, only to be shoved back against the trunk of the big tree. I suddenly found myself staring down the steel barrel of the revolver in Tilly’s hand. My heart began to pound in my chest, and I could hear my blood rushing in my ears.

“Emma Gilly,” I choked out.

“No, who  _ are  _ you? Who do you run with?” She demanded. It was hard to comprehend what she was asking me between the roaring blood in my ears, and the thought that one twitch of her finger could bring me to the Pearly Gates in an instant.

“No one, I swear!” I cried. As I expected, Tilly furrowed her brow in doubt at my claim. I needed to come up with a story, and fast. One good thing about being tied to that tree - it gave me plenty of time to think of a reasonable lie.

“I was traveling, or rather, running away with my brother Thomas,” I blurted out, “My family is from New York. My da- papa” I corrected myself. I was pretty sure no one called their father “Dad” at this point in time, “owed a lot of money to the wrong people. He didn’t pay on time - he kept missing his payments. It isn’t safe for me to stay with my family - any of them. Papa got a letter saying that some bad men were going to- they were going to- '' I broke off in a forced sob for dramatic effect. I shook my head in dismay, as if the memory was too painful.

“We’re supposed to believe that?” Tilly asked. I began to cry. The tears were not hard to conjure, as I was feeling emotionally lost, and frustrated. I wasn’t sure how I had gotten here, much less how I was going to get home, and I felt so alone.

“Believe what you want,” I said between sobs. I was reminded of my conversation with Arthur, and how he had asked a very similar question. I was growing increasingly annoyed with the skeptic nature of this gang.

I wiped a tear from my eye, and looked up at Mary-Beth. She had a sympathetic look in her eyes, and though I was tempted to manipulate that, something told me she wasn’t as easy to read as she looked.

“It doesn’t sound very convincing,” Tilly said. I shrugged. I had no idea what to say.

“Oh, leave her be, Tilly,” Mary-Beth finally spoke up. She stepped forward and placed her hand on Tilly’s arm, which lowered slowly until the gun was no longer pointed at my head.

“Fine, but if I find out you’re lyin’,” Tilly said, pointing with the gun threateningly, “you’re gonna have another thing comin’ to you,” I nodded, but inwardly I knew it would not be hard for anyone in the gang to discover that I was lying. Arthur was the only one who knew the truth, and even he didn’t believe me.

“The girl has secrets,” Mary-Beth said to Tilly, but she looked at me, “just like all of us do. We should treat her like one of the gang, treat her like one of our own. So long as she doesn’t slip up…” she trailed off, meeting my eye once again. I had no plans to sell this gang out, or do anything to double-cross them. I suspected that if I did, I wouldn’t live too much longer. I did, however, begin to wonder how hard it would be to nab the gun from Tilly, and make a run for it. I wasn’t sure where I’d go, but I was going to get away from these people. Maybe the O’Driscolls would help me if I told them I knew Kieran…..no, he said they weren’t a fan of his. Maybe if I told them I was a prisoner of the Van der Lindes… 

No matter what I decided to do, I figured it would not be an easy feat to take a gun off a woman who knew how to shoot better than I did. I’d just have to wait for a golden opportunity then.

“Come on, ladies, let’s keep walking, there’s some berries up ahead, and I thought we could put some in our aprons and carry them back to camp,” Karen said, swishing her apron from side to side. The other girls giggled and followed after her, with me in tow. At first, I was shocked that they would trust me in the back, but I was sure Tilly was a good shot, and I wouldn’t make it more than 100 ft before I’d hit the ground with a bullet in my back.

“So, your brother, where is he?” Karen asked, as we walked along.

“Mine?” I replied, not sure if she was talking to me.

“No, Ms. Tilly’s,” she looked over her shoulder, rolling her eyes. “Yes, yours.”

“I don’t know, we were separated north of Valentine. Hosea, Arthur and Charles found me shortly after. He’s probably nearby,” I said, then kicked myself inwardly for sounding so nonchalant about my brother’s disappearance.

“You ain’t worried about him?” Tilly asked skeptically.

“No. He knows how to take care of himself, and I don’t really need him - I found you lot. I’m a lot less likely to be found here than I am with him, and I’d only slow him down,” I said, hoping that was a suitable recovery.

“You worth any money?” Tilly asked, and Mary-Beth elbowed her in the ribs. Tilly cried out, and rubbed the injured spot.

“Probably not,” I said, even though I took Tilly’s question as a jest. “Since my father borrowed all of our money, and then gambled it away, my family is essentially broke.” I winced at myself, wondering if broke was a term yet. The girls didn’t seem to react either way, so I assumed that meant I was safe this time.

As we walked toward the path that led to Valentine to find these berries, two riders came around the bend up ahead. A man sat atop each horse. The steeds were tall and lean, with small frames, and brown coats.

“Careful ladies. Remember, we’re itinerant workers, out of a job since our factory in the north closed down,” Karen whispered to us.

As the men approached, it was clear that they were armed. Both had a rifle strapped to their backs, and I could see that the man on the left had a holster on both hips with a pistol in each. Soon, they were close enough for us to see their faces, and I felt my heart sink in my chest.

On the left was the man from Valentine who had been reading the newspaper in the train station, and then outside the bank, across the street from the general store. I had said “I recognize that man,” to which Arthur had replied, “Me too.” Now I really wished that I had questioned him about that.

And now this man was looking straight at me. I didn’t recognize the man beside him, but they were clearly making their ways towards us.

“Emma!” Newspaper man called out to me. My face went white.

“Why does he know your name?” Tilly hissed, and moved towards me threateningly, until her face was inches from mine. I shook my head.

“I don’t know,” I whispered back. Now they were right in front of us, both men looking down at the four of us from atop their horses. The newspaper man sported a mustache that was neatly groomed, and was speckled with gray hairs. He had no other facial hair, and the only other defining feature of his face was his large, squashed in nose. He had wide nostrils, and a flat bridge and tip to his snout. His eyes were gray, and the only way to describe them was blank. I could not read his expression for the life of me.

“Do I… do I know you?” I asked tentatively.

“No, but I know your uncle,” he said. His horse tossed its mane, and pawed at the ground.

My uncle? I didn’t think any of my uncles were alive quite yet. Not in 1899.

“Uncle who?” I asked.

“Your Uncle Ben. We can help you,” he said. I didn’t have an Uncle Ben. He gave a wary glance to the girls beside me, “are you safe?” he asked quietly. To be frank, I wasn’t sure, but they hadn’t killed me yet.

“Now hold on,” Karen said, stepping forward. “I thought you said it wasn’t safe for you to go back home. You said it wasn’t safe for you to stay with family.” She glared at me skeptically.

“It’s not!” I insisted, and looked back at mustache man. “I’m sorry, I don’t know you, I think I’d be safer-” I started to say, but the mustache man closed his eyes and sighed.

“Then I suppose we’ll be doing this the hard way. Carlos,” he said, then looked to his partner, who produced a lasso, and drew his gun, and pointed it at Karen.

_ Bang _ , and then the sound of someone hitting the ground. I had closed my eyes at the shot, and cowered. I opened them, to see the body of Carlos on the ground, dead in the dirt.

“Shit,” Mustache Man cursed, and spurred his horse forwards. The horse scrambled to find traction, but was soon racing off. I looked to my left to see Tilly holding the revolver. She had shot the man in front of us. She turned and pointed the gun straight at me.

“Duck,” she commanded me. I crouched, curling myself into a squatting ball on the ground, and stared straight ahead at the man whose blood had splattered the ground dark red - almost black.

_ Bang, bang, bang,  _ came the shots as Tilly shot after the mustache man. She missed all three times. Maybe I could’ve made a run for it.

The dead man’s horse stamped at the ground, the whites of its eyes fully visible, and its mouth foamed with fear.

An idea popped into my head, but now was not the time.

“Damnit, Tilly, you can’t shoot this close to camp,” yelled Karen.

“They was gonna take little Miss Royalty over here, and she would’ve ratted us out. Either I shot them, or her,” Tilly retorted.

“Maybe you  _ should  _ just shoot her!” Karen roared back.

“Fine, I will!” Tilly said, and whipped back around to face me, but it was too late. I had found my golden opportunity. I was already beside the frantic beast, and I had my foot in the stirrup.

“What the hell?!” Tilly yelled, and I heard the _click_ of the hammer on the revolver. Fortunately, the horse was still on edge from the gunshots, and was now so startled by me trying to clamber onto its back, that it bolted with me half in the saddle, so the _bang_ of the revolver was not answered by anyone hitting the ground this time.

I managed to pull myself the rest of the way up, despite the G-forces, and bumpiness of the galloping steed’s pace. I held on tight to its mane, and flattened myself over its neck to decrease my likelihood of being shot in the back. Several more shots rang out after us. I wasn’t sure where the horse was running, but I knew we were on the path that led south of camp. We were also on the same path Mustache Man had sped off on.

Finally the shots stopped, and I sat up, struggling to find the reins, and struggling to keep myself atop the horse. I didn’t know where we were headed, or what I was going to do with myself, but I knew I had to get away. I slowed the horse down to a canter, and stroked its neck soothingly. Its ragged breaths continued, despite my attempts at being a Disney Princess who could calm animals with their mind.

I would have to find some form of civilization other than Valentine, and quickly. It wouldn’t take long for them to send someone - maybe even multiple someones - after me, and I doubted they would keep me as a prisoner this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAA Thanks for reading, I just needed to get that out :) love u


	6. VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I steal my father’s favorite saying, “Better than a sharp stick in the eye.”  
> and I write very poorly phrased German

I pulled the horse off the main path not long after I made my run for it. I was less likely to be found if I picked the remote paths, but I intended to depart from the trail as soon as the woods thinned out.  
It was midday, and the sun was at its peak. What had been a warm spring morning now felt like a blistering summer day, and my clothes began to stick to my sweaty skin in a very uncomfortable way. The trees above us offered minimal protection from the warm rays of the sun, and seemed unnaturally still from the lack of wind.  
My dress was hiked up all around me, like it had been when I rode with Arthur. I doubted I would have been able to escape, and stay on the horse’s back if I had rode off side-saddle. I looked down at my steed. His coat gleamed with sweat. I had tried to urge him forwards at a canter, but he was just too tired to keep running anymore, and insisted on continuing forward at a trot.  
We trudged onwards, and finally the trees began to thin until they were gone completely, and we emerged into a pasture that was split in two by a wide creek bed that had once been a great river, but was now reduced to a shallow trickle with a width of no more than 20 ft. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I remembered Bear Grylls saying that if you follow water, you’ll find civilization. Somehow, I felt like this river might be the exception to that rule.  
Across the river, I noticed a rut in the river bed that led into the forest. It was a kind of gorge, that I could probably make a camp in without being seen, and I could get out of this heat. From where I stood, it also seemed like the water was too shallow to make it over the slope of the gorge, so it was probably dry.  
I dismounted, and led the horse down to the river. He drank greedily once we made it to the river’s edge, and I knelt to cup some water in my hands, and drink some myself. As I drank, I noted how warm the water felt. It wasn’t as refreshing as a cold stream would have been, but I was very thirsty, and this was better than a sharp stick in the eye.  
I squatted on the bank of the river, letting the front of my skirt dip into the water. I hardly noticed, however. My mind was elsewhere.  
How was I going to get out of here? I supposed I could try to get back home, if Rochester even existed yet, and go from there. I tried to think back on all the movies and books I’d seen or read about people going back in time. There was always something. An artifact, or a standing stone would send them back when they touched it. For me, I couldn’t recall anything like that. I knew something strange had happened right before I woke up in the woods, but I couldn’t remember what. I just remembered the feeling, like when you know you had a weird dream but can’t remember the details.  
Something had been knocked loose when I saw Tilly with the revolver. Just for a split second, I felt a glimpse of recollection of my arrival in 1899, but as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone.  
So I was stuck right back where I was - with no idea how to get back to the future (haha). I supposed I would have to stick with my original plan of just getting back to Rochester.  
I stood, and climbed back into the gelding’s saddle, and we crossed the river.  
Once we were on the other side, we tentatively made our way into the gorge. I was correct in assuming that the ground would be more dry in the gorge than on the actual bank, but it was still soft enough for the horse to leave hoofprints in the dirt.  
Large rocks between the sizes of cats and cars littered the ground all up the gorge, and we carefully picked our way through them. Soon the walls of our little valley stretched 50ft into the air.  
A particularly large rock sat at the end of the gorge, obscuring a family from my view. They were not aware of my approach, and I was not aware that I was approaching them. When I came around the rock, towering over a boy no older than 8, I was as shocked as he was.  
After a brief shouting match with his father - half of which was in German (his half) and the other half in English (my half) all while he pointed a shotgun at me - everyone settled down, and I found myself seated at a campfire with a man and a woman, and their two children: a girl of about 14, and a boy of about 7 or 8. There was a covered wagon not far beyond the giant rock which hid the family from my view, and a clothes line had been tied between the frame of the wagon, and a scraggly skeleton of a tree that had unsuccessfully tried to take root in the rocky wall of the gorge. There were no animals around, aside from the gelding I had rode in on, which meant the family wasn’t going to be moving out of this gorge any time soon.  
“Bist Sie hungrig?” Asked the woman. I didn’t speak any German, but the last word sounded like hungry, and I knew Sie was the formal “you” in German. She also held out a bowl of soup towards me, which helped me translate her question to “are you hungry?” I was going to politely reject her offer, but I did feel quite hungry and I wasn’t sure when my next meal would be, so I accepted gratefully.There were peas in the soup, which I hated, but I ate it anyway.  
“Danke,” I said. I knew that meant ‘thank you,’ at least.  
“Where you come from?” the father asked me in a thick German accent as I greedily sipped from the bowl. The trees and walls of the gorge made for a very cool valley, and I was starting to grow cold. I shivered as the hot broth warmed my belly, but my skin covered itself in goosebumps.  
“New York,” I said, “Rochester, have you heard of it?” He shook his head.  
“You are running someone away?” The man asked me in broken English. I couldn’t quite grasp what he was asking me.  
“I’m sorry?” I asked, hoping he would repeat himself in case I misheard him.  
“You...you are get away from someone?” He asked. Then I understood.  
“Oh, yes,” I said, and sipped some more soup.  
“Your father?” he asked, and scratched his red beard. I shook my head.  
“No, some bad men,” I said, “they kidnapped me.” That wasn’t entirely true, but it was the easiest way to explain my situation. The man looked at his wife, and she looked at him. I took it from the look on both of their faces that neither understood what I had said. I could tell I wasn’t going to get very far with them.  
“Who are you running from?” I asked. A shadow crossed over the father’s face as he contemplated.  
“Bad men,” he parroted. He understood that part at least.  
I wanted to stay with them. Every part of my being longed to be safe and at least a bit more comfortable than I would be on my own. Unfortunately, they hadn’t offered to take me with them, wherever they were going, and I definitely didn’t want to put them in danger with the Van der Lindes.  
“Thank you, danke,” I said, and opened my satchel to see if I had anything to give them in return for their help. All I had was my socks and shoes, and my night gown, “I’m sorry, I don’t have anything to give you, but I appreciate your help.”  
“Bitte warte einen Moment!” The woman said, and bounced to her feet. I stood as well, but waited where I was. What had she said?  
She turned around and rummaged in the back of the wagon for something, and then emerged with a rough looking blanket. She extended it toward me.  
“Es ist kalt hier draußen,” She said, and placed her hand on mine, “You leave bad men behind, you get away,” she added quietly.  
“Danke,” I said, matching her tone. “You’ve done me a huge favor, I hope I can return it some day, but I should keep moving before the bad men find me,” I said louder so the man could hear me. He nodded and gave me a hopeful smile.  
“Viel Glück,” He said.

Soon I was back in the saddle, and I was riding back out of the gorge. I would have to find a new way to the fields on this side of the river. My original plan was to follow the gorge, but the family had been camped at the end of it, and there was no scaling the walls of that canyon.  
As I exited the mouth of the valley, I turned left, and continued on for a while before I found a road heading inland. I then followed that, and watched the landscape change. The soil became a rich red color, and the trees started to hold their branches lower than the ones up north. The leaves hung lazily, and some trees had vines that bent down to touch the ground, as if the branches that held them up were too tired to keep them in the air. It also became noticeably hotter, and more humid. I was shocked at how quickly the climate changed. Surely I hadn’t been traveling long enough to have crossed into a hotter climate? This felt like Florida weather in the spring.  
I tugged at the neck of my dress to let my skin breathe, and a wave of warm air rushed up into my face from inside the bodice. I scrunched up my nose in disgust at how sweaty I must be for that to happen, and I was indeed sweaty. My bodice clung to my skin, and my legs felt sticky inside my bloomers. I had half a mind to dismount and take them off, but I knew I had to keep moving.  
I had been on the trail for some time, suffering under the hot sun and humid air. My skin stuck to the leather of the saddle, and it was beginning to hurt. Up ahead, a thicket of trees lined the right side of the trail as it bent to the left. I decided that if I was to survive tonight, I should find a place to hide and make camp. I didn’t know how to start a fire, but I did have the blanket from the German woman, and I had two years of Girl Scouts under my belt. Of course, both of those years were spent at the Brownie level, which is the second youngest group, and my troop never went camping, but we did go on a hike at a campground once!  
I had a feeling tonight was not going to be comfortable. I was going to have to sleep on the ground, with one blanket, and the spooky sounds of the woods all around me. I also had a feeling it was going to get cold once the sun went down.  
I steered the horse into the trees along a deer trail. The air became much cooler, and the sun was largely obscured from the thick leaves of the trees above. It was dark, but my eyes adjusted quickly, and I was relieved to be out of the direct sunlight. I continued to sweat from the humidity, but it had to be at least 10 degrees cooler in the shade of the woods.  
The woods seemed to stretch on forever. Once, I thought I heard someone coming up behind me. When I whipped around, however, my eyes snapped to the fluffy white streak left behind by the tail of a spooked deer.  
Branches whipped me across the face, and pricker bushes scraped at my calves as we trudged forward, trying desperately to follow the narrow natural trail. In order to protect my eyes from snapping branches, I looked down at the horse’s mane. A stick jabbed me in the knee, leaving a stinging feeling where it had made the injury. I cried out in pain, and lifted my skirt up to look at the spot. Crimson red began to build a swelling circle on my drawers. I cursed under my breath as the sting began to subside. I looked up to see what was ahead of me and realized I had emerged from the forest into a clearing.  
Up ahead was a river covered in mist, and a wide bank that merged with the grassy edge of the woods. This would be a perfect place to camp. It was hidden from the road, there was plenty of firewood, and it was in a flat place so the smoke from a fire wouldn’t be visible to anyone around - if I ever could figure out how to start one.. I almost smiled in relief.  
I stiffly dismounted my four-legged friend and led him towards the river to drink, though he didn’t seem too interested. I, however, was very thirsty. I knelt down and cupped some water in my hands and drank. I figured this wasn’t the cleanest of water, and I was probably going to end up with an infection, but I was too thirsty to care. I shook the rest of the water off my hands, and wiped them dry on my skirt before standing and moving to the side of my horse. There was a saddlebag attached to his saddle that I hadn’t looked through yet. Maybe I could find some matches.  
I rummages around and produced a few dollars, an expensive looking pocket watch, some binoculars, a hunting knife in its sheath, and a pack of cigarettes. I flipped open the the top of the cigarette pack, and found tow paper matches built into the cardboard.  
I inwardly praised God, but cursed myself as well. I was terrible at lighting cardboard matches. I replaced everything but into the saddlebag, and grasped the horse’s lead. I brought him to the trunk of an elm tree and tied a slip knot with enough slack to give him room to move a bit.  
I searched the woods for firewood until dusk began to battle the sun for domain of the sky.  
Once I had built up a good pile of sticks and twigs, I retrieved the cigarette pack and struggled to light my kindling.  
My first attempt failed miserably. I broke the match so that it was too small to hold if it did light. Out of desperation I crumpled up two dollar bills and lit them on fire with the second match. Somehow, I managed to make a reasonably sized fire. I doubted I had enough wood to last the night, but hopefully I could sleep most of the night with the blanket I had.  
I was glad I had eaten with that family. At least I wasn’t hungry. That was one less thing to weigh on me. As I sat staring into the flames, the fear that I could never get home flooded my mind and eventually my eyes.  
Tears began to stream down my cheeks an I futilely tried to battle them, but as I wiped each tear away it was replaced with a new one.  
I was so scared that I would never see my parents, or brother, or friends ever again. I was scared because I didn’t know where I was or how to live a normal life in this time. I was scared because dangerous men were probably looking for me, and I was sure I would die out there.

I shivered. My arms and legs stung with cold, and my body ached. I pulled my blanket closer and opened my eyes to see a dead, cold pile of ash where my fire had been. The sky was a cool blue-gray as the sun approached the horizon of the cloud covered sky.  
I eased my aching muscles up into a seated position and wrapped the blanket around myself even tighter. The haze of sleep hung heavy on my eyelids, but even if I could go back to sleep, I would wake back up in minutes from the chill.  
I blinked slowly to clear my sleepy eyes, and turned to look at my horse. His head hung low, and his stance was relaxed. We had survived the night.  
I was about to force myself up to prepare to leave when a sound made my heart sink into my stomach.  
“Sleep well?” Growled a familiar male voice from the trees.


	7. VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Emma almost pees her pants

My heart sunk into my stomach. I swallowed to keep my throat from closing with fear. If only I had kept the knife beside me while I slept. If only I had a gun, but I didn’t have anything.

Only a blanket, and my frozen white knuckles.

Inside the trees stood a shadow. I couldn’t make out its face, but I didn’t need to. I knew it was Arthur, the man who had shown me how to shoot. The only man I had trusted with my situation so far, and now he was here to kill me.

I swallowed once more, trying to think of something to say, but words eluded me.

“I’m surprised it took me this long to find you,” he said stepping out into the gray light of the misty morning. His hair was long, almost touching his shoulders, and his beard was scruffy. It was too long for his face. It made his demeanor too scraggly. His eyes looked dark and angry, but sunken in, like they were trying to retreat.

That’s what I wanted to do: to retreat. I slowly stood, letting the blanket fall into a heap behind me.

“Please,” I managed to choke out.

“Well, at least she’s got manners,” he said dryly. His hand dropped to his hip where he had a knife sheathed. In a fluid, nonchalant motion, he drew the knife and pondered over the blade for a moment. I took a step back instinctively. If this was a cartoon, my knees would have been knocking together in fright.

“See, you made a real big mistake, girl - runnin’ away like that wasn’t your brightest idea. Makes us a little nervous. Makes us think maybe you’re running off to tell on us,” He said, taking a step closer to me as I slowly stepped back. He finally looked up from the knife. “You ain’t gonna do that, are ya girl?” He stated, more than asked. I shook my head.

“No, of course not, I’m - I was just scared!” I cried. He chuckled - it was a dry laugh. This man was really good at putting up a frightening facade - or maybe it was his more friendly side that was the facade….

I needed to get away, and fast. I couldn’t outrun him, I knew that. I was never a fast runner, and I hadn’t run in nearly a month since I broke my leg. Even now that it was healed, I wasn’t going to get away by that method. I could sprint for the horse, and hope that he wouldn’t catch up before we made it to a gallop out of the woods, but that was only if I could pull myself into the saddle quick enough.

My other option was to fight. I couldn’t kill him, I knew that, but maybe I could hurt him before he killed me. Yes, if I ran to the horse, I knew which saddlebag the knife was in. I could get it out and fight.

My nerves tried to glue me to the ground as I swallowed the lump in my throat, knowing that what I was about to do was very likely to get me killed. I braced myself, and let my knees relax, and then I bolted.

Blood rushed through my ears, and my fists ached as I clutched my skirts to my sides with a crushing force. I raced to the horse, and ran around the other side of him. As I flung open the saddlebag, and reached in for the knife, my eyes met a brown shape running towards me, and I realized he was a lot faster than I had accounted for. My fingers wrapped around the sheath, as I was pulled back, and thrown to the ground. My head thudded on the dirt, and sparks erupted in my vision. I blinked them away and groaned. I was dead for sure now. The knife was on the ground beside me, but it was too far to reach for it now. The brown blob, which was now forming itself into the shape of Arthur stood over me. His expression was unreadable. His face just looked hard. I began to cry.

“That was a real stupid decision, girl,” said Arthur. His voice was more gentle now, but he was by no means making friendly conversation.

“I know,” I blubbered stupidly behind my tears. What a dumb response. He snorted, whether in reply to my comment, or at the pathetic sight of my crying, sprawled form, I don’t know.

I was about to die, I was sure of it. My last and only hope was to plead with him to spare me. Or...I could reach for the knife again.

I blinked the tears out of my vision, and sat up slowly, meeting Arthur’s eyes. I saw no sympathy there.

“Please,” I whispered, “I just want to go home.”

“Back to...when did you say you came from? 2020? Sure girl, we’ll just drop you off at the nearest clockmaker’s shop. Maybe he can help you. Or better yet, let’s take you to one of those insane asylums. That’s where I say you belong.” He crouched next to me, and clenched his jaw. “Miss Emma, you’ve got two options, I either take you back to the camp willingly, or I kill you right now and leave your body here to rot. Which would you prefer?”

I looked into those cold, sad eyes, and I knew from that moment that he was a dangerous man. He was not joking around. He had killed so many people he had probably lost count long ago. I wondered if he made a habit of threatening women.

“I would  _ prefer _ , to go  _ home, _ ” I said again, and he hung his head and shook it.

“Fine, I’ll make the decision for you,” he said, brandishing his knife again. He grabbed me by the hair, and yanked my head up against his thigh. I screamed, and he clamped his hand over my mouth.

“Shut the hell up, girl, and I’ll make this quick.” He pressed the knife against my throat, and I nearly soiled myself.

“ _ Please! _ ” I screamed, though it came out as more of a hiss as my throat began to close with fright.

“Please, what?” He said, still pressing the knife to my neck. My hands were on his other leg, trying to push him away.

“ _ Please, _ ” I sobbed, “I don’t want to die, I’ll go.” Tears ran down my face as I let my hands drop to the dirt. He kept the knife still for a moment, then he lifted it from my skin, nicking me ever so slightly, and released his hold of my hair.

“You’ll go nicely, then?” He asked. I nodded, not meeting his eyes. “No funny business, or you’ll get a bullet in the back the second I suspect you’re up to something, you hear?” Again, he didn’t really ask me if I heard. He demanded it. I nodded again.

Arthur’s saddle was more comfortable than the one on the back of the mustache man’s horse. My hands were tied with a rough rope, but otherwise I was allowed to sit upright and forward facing on the horse. Arthur kicked some dirt over my already cold fire, and untied my horse before climbing up onto the horse’s lower back behind me. He snapped the reins and his horse shook her head as she began to plod out of the clearing with my horse in tow.

“Thanks for the horse, girl. We can always use more,” Arthur said sarcastically. I bit my tongue.

We rode in silence for a while. I didn’t recognize the way we went. He was using backroads, like I had, but we were going west, rather than north to Valentine. I didn’t question it for some time, but once we had passed several roads that would bring us north, I couldn’t stand the curiosity any longer.

“Where are we going?” I asked. He didn’t respond right away. He seemed to mull it over in his mind before he replied.

“Rhodes,” He simply said.

“Why?” I asked. I didn’t know where ‘Rhodes’ was, but it sounded like a proper noun, so I determined it must be a town.

“There’s a doctor there that specializes in...people like you,” he said.

“People like me?” I asked.

“Yeah, nutcases.”

I rolled my eyes. I definitely didn’t want to end up in an insane asylum. I knew how they treated people with mental disorders in this time, but maybe the doctor could help me to get away from my captor.

Either way, I would have to escape from Arthur yet again.


End file.
